


Marked

by xylodemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Sex, Future Fic, M/M, Plot What Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-06
Updated: 2005-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is a marked man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hp_synergy.livejournal.com/profile)[**hp_synergy**](http://hp_synergy.livejournal.com/) 2005.

Knockturn Alley is a black and sinister place, dark alleys and dank shops and dirty, cobblestone walks. The customers cling to the walls like vines, hunched, cloaked and yellow-nailed, their heads bowed, their fingers curled tightly around their wands.

Harry slips through the crowd hidden, invisible. He nudges an arm here, elbows a rib there, steps on a foot as he crosses the walk. If the people notice, _feel_ , they don't grumble or cry out. Harry doesn't care, and he forgets them before he's passed.

He's following, tracking, _hunting_ , his eyes trained on the cloaked figure a few paces in front of him. He's tall, thin, and the heavy folds of his robes hang loosely on his frame. He walks with the surety of someone graced with wealth and bloodlines, but underneath it there's a pause, the hesitation of someone who knows his days are numbered, watched, _marked_.

Harry knows it wasn't Malfoy who caused Dumbledore's end, knows it wasn't Malfoy who pulled his wand and said the words. It was Snape, vicious, cruel and betraying, but Harry feels Malfoy is equally to blame. Because of Malfoy, Dumbledore died. Because of Malfoy, the Order stumbles, flounders, _fails_.

Malfoy passes Borgin and Burkes, lingering at the edge of the store front, his fingers trailing over cold stone. He glances over his shoulder before turning the corner, and he counts his steps from the mouth of the shadowed alley, heel to toe, heel to toe. His hand come up, pale against the belled sleeves of his inky robes, and it hovers just above the surface of as he counts the bricks, up and to the left.

He's been here day after day, Harry's heard, Harry's been told, by his watchers and trailers and friends of friends of friends. They say Malfoy searches every alley, crevice and recess on the street, counting, casting, _waiting_. Harry wonders what he's looking for, what he hopes to find.

Malfoy touches the wall, the proper brick, his finger pressed white against grimy, ivy-choked stone, stroking it lightly before pulling his wand to take its place. He opens his mouth, a spell gathering on the back of his tongue and Harry moves, attacks, _descends_.

The cloak slips from Harry's body, because Harry wants Malfoy to know, wants Malfoy to see. Harry's hands catch slim shoulders, turning, spinning, and Malfoy hits the wall with the soft sound of muscle and flesh, the satisfying crack of bone against stone.

Grey eyes widen and darken, and his mouth falls slack, marring the perfect line of his jaw. Words come, stumbling from his mouth, tripping from his tongue, but Harry's hand is there to catch them, hold them, reign them in. Malfoy's wand hand jerks, the tip pressing hard and sharp into Harry's side, and Harry smiles.

"Do it, then," Harry whispers, mouth dropped low, lips brushing Malfoy's ear. "Kill me like you couldn't kill Dumbledore."

Malfoy's breath breaks, hitches, _stops_ , and Malfoy's body tenses, pressed against the wall and tense under Harry's hands, eyes fluttering closed as Harry's mouth leaves his ear to trace the line of his jaw. Harry's tongue darts out over pale, stubbled skin, and he tastes salt, skin, _fear_.

The wand leaves Harry's side slowly, retreating from his flesh one heartbeat at a time. It falls to the ground with a clatter, and the sound of wood hitting cobblestones echoes through the alley, bright, sharp and loud.

Harry leans in, pressing, moulding, _pinning_ , and he slides his hand away from Malfoy's mouth, replacing it with his lips simply because he can. Malfoy doesn't move, doesn't flinch, doesn't _breathe_ , and he allows Harry's tongue to snake between his lips.

Malfoy's mouth is hot and slick, liquid fire against Harry's tongue, sparking dangerous heat through Harry's body. He makes a small, pained noise when Harry's teeth nip a bit too hard, when Harry's teeth scrape, graze, _rend_ , and the bitter tang of copper spreads between them.

Harry can feel him, his cock hard against Harry's hip, digging into Harry's skin as it seeks pressure, friction, _release_. He smiles against Malfoy's mouth, tongue darting out to catch the drop of blood welling in the curve of his lower lip, and rocks against him, laughing softly when Malfoy moans.

He kisses down, his mouth sliding over Malfoy's jaw, neck and throat, pausing to lick, suck, _bite_ until Malfoy arches off the wall. Harry thrusts against him, their cocks sliding together hard and hot, his fingers moving to Malfoy's hips, grasping, digging, _bruising_.

Harry works a hand between the press of their bodies, pushing apart their robes and pulling at their flies, fingers fumbling with belts and buttons and zips. Malfoy's cock falls right into his hand, smooth, heavy, _hot_ , and Harry surges forward, gasping at the slick-rough feel of skin against skin.

Malfoy sinks to his knees gracefully, legs folding up at Harry's hand on his shoulder, and he leans into Harry, lips brushing the head of Harry's cock. His tongue darts out, wet and candy-pink, licking, teasing, _tasting_ before sucking Harry inside.

Harry moans, a low, broken sound trapped in the back of his throat, his hips jerking forward, seeking the impossible, searing heat of Malfoy's mouth. His hands tangle in Malfoy's hair, urging, coaxing, _demanding_ , and Malfoy takes him in, lips and tongue moving over his cock, relaxing around him and swallowing him down.

He looks down, watching, and finds that's Malfoy's watching him, his grey eyes wide, heated and dark with both hatred and arousal. His tongue works along the underside of Harry's cock, flicking, licking, _swirling_ , and Harry thrusts hard, _I hate you_ tumbling off his lips.

Harry hauls Malfoy up, fingers twisting in his robes, pushing apart the heavy folds to wrap his hand around Malfoy's cock. Malfoy moans, arching forward, twisting into the heat of his hand, his mouth blindly seeking Harry's, fingers lost in the mess of Harry's hair.

He kisses Harry hard, lips, tongue, _teeth_ , moaning into Harry's mouth as he pushes himself into Harry's hand. Harry strokes him quick, fast, _rough_ , fingers tightening as his hand slides base to tip, and Malfoy comes, hot and thick between them.

Malfoy's breathing is still hitched and rough when Harry casts the proper spells, when Harry twists his hands behind his back and binds them with silver cords that shoot from the end of his wand. He nods silently as Harry pulls him close, and when Harry Apparates away, his wand is still lying on the cobblestones, useless, forgotten, _alone_.


End file.
